


Take It Slow

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blogging, Deaf Character, Depression, Disabled Character, M/M, Recovery, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7222846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler is a vlogger—albeit a not very good one, but a vlogger nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take It Slow

**Author's Note:**

> translation into русский available: [Take It Slow](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5124200) by [neighvael](https://ficbook.net/authors/418104)
> 
> -
> 
> it was only after a good night's sleep that i realized the title is lyrics to "heathens", but i'm not complaining. because it fits.
> 
> go listen to "heathens".

Tyler is a vlogger—albeit a not very good one, but a vlogger nonetheless. He isn't as great as other YouTubers; his fanbase is small and sort of shitty, and Tyler does nothing to give back to them. He doesn't answer comments. He doesn't like tweets. He blocks almost every anon in his Tumblr inbox. And he _never_ has a regular uploading schedule—although his schedule was always sporadic.

His first video was a joke. He got out of bed one morning and dared himself to record himself doing something so mundane that no one would ever sit through and actually watch it. So, after some thinking and realizing he needed to do a few errands, Tyler decided he was going to film himself driving.

Since he never anticipated himself doing this, he didn't have a good video camera. He did, however, have an iPhone and some scotch tape, and having his phone taped to his dashboard is just as good as a top-of-the-line video camera.

In between stops to run to post offices and gas stations, he listened to the radio. Hands beating on the steering wheel and looking genuinely displeased with the world, Tyler thought he would get fifteen views at the most.

And then, right around the sixteen-minute mark, Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way" comes on, and now Tyler's video has over thirty thousand views and about two hundred comments. He hates his life.

Tyler had a hard time choosing the title for the video, as the obvious choice, to him, would have only brought more ridicule. He went with "driving" because it was bland, and he only expected fifteen views, but now it has over thirty thousand views and about two hundred comments. He hates his life.

Most of the comments are embarrassing. People are calling him hot, asking him what he does to prep his voice—Tyler is so sure this is supposed to be sexual—wanting to know if he's going to upload any more covers, wondering why he's wearing a sweat jacket with his hood pulled over his head in the middle of summer. He mutes any and all users who call him "daddy". You know, basic stuff that comes with Internet fame.

Tyler's next video was an original song, derived from a poem he wrote called "Car Radio". He sang, playing on his shitty keyboard, locked away in his bedroom, and hating himself throughout it. He ended up deleting it that night. Tyler might not reply to any comments, but he certainly reads through them. Underneath all the inquiries about why he's still wearing that hoodie despite the sunlight streaming through an open window, there were some assholes who thought the song was literal and a sequel to his previous video. Tyler deleted each of their comments one-by-one, and then went on to delete the video itself. Tyler meant the song as a metaphor for _everything_ , and not to be taken so literally.

A month later, he tried again. He didn't sing this time—he signed. Tyler is fluent in American Sign Language, and has been since he was young. His parents urged him to learn, and while they do know some themselves, Tyler can't carry a conversation with them. He didn't know why his parents made him learn, but he appreciates it now. He never wants to stop.

Tyler is deaf—well, not actually deaf; just hard of hearing. Without his hearing aids, he might as well call himself deaf. "Car Radio" was a metaphor for that, for the silence. And the obvious title for his video "driving" would have included the word "deaf". But the ridicule would have been too much for Tyler because he doesn't _sound_ deaf—at least, to those who can hear. Along with the sign language, Tyler was forced into speech classes up until he graduated high school. It was hell, but his mom only saw potential in him, and who was he to disappoint his able-bodied parents?

The reaction to this video was… good. Tyler thought it was good. People said it was beautiful, and were expecting him to upload more. Some were wondering when he learned sign language, and then came the speculation.

Many commenters concluded he was either a professional translator or some kid studying to become a translator. Nobody ever thought Tyler was actually part of the marginalized party. No, that's preposterous. Why would a disabled person want to celebrate their disability? That's wild. It doesn't even matter if Tyler always wore his hood over his head to hide his ears—his hearing aids. Him wearing that sweat jacket must mean something else. But what? What?

Tyler uploads the occasional cover—"Can't Help Falling in Love", "We Found Love", nothing too out of place. He puts up vlogs of him lying in grass and doing nothing else. That's twenty minutes long, and has even more people calling him "daddy". Tyler doesn't want to be anybody's daddy. His muted account list is miles long.

Tyler does more signing videos than anything. He likes doing those the most, not counting the videos where it's just him doing something boring. Those are just as popular as his songs. He doesn't understand why, but he reads the comments and understands. They want to know if he'll be wearing something new. And he does—a few times, but it's also not typical summer clothing. Once he shed his jackets and displayed his arms, he found a beanie and pulled that on, down, down, down until his ears were hidden. Half the comments were of surprise, the other half were calling him stupid for wearing something like that, and then there was a third who were talking about how hot his arms were. Tyler didn't mute any of them, but he pasted their names into a word document and considered this their warning.

Tyler really wants to do something with music. Based on his videos, he needs to find a career centered around… sign language and eating cereal. Is that a thing? Signing while eating cereal seems complicated, but Tyler is confident in his abilities. He practices while his parents are visiting one day. They don't live with him; they're paying rent on the house, and they're more here than they're not—but Tyler doesn't live with his parents. They say it's his fault they're now _obligated_ to check up on him every day.

"You don't answer your phone," his mom scolds, "and you won't even video chat! Your siblings _always_ answer us when we want to talk to them." She's doing his dishes, hands in suds and her back to Tyler.

Tyler is staring at his mother's back, mouth full of Frosted Flakes. He narrows his eyes.

" _Honestly_ , Tyler, are you even listening to me?" She grabs a damp towel and pats her hands dry, spinning around to face Tyler. "Have you heard a thing I said?"

Tyler holds up his hands, chest height, palms to the ceiling, and shakes them twice.

His mom lowers the towel, scowling. " _Tyler_."

" _What?_ Is that better?"

She starts over to him, grabbing his chin, roughly turning his head to the left, then to the right. "Where are your hearing aids?"

Tyler tries to explain. _Because I just woke up, and you let yourself in, and I was really hungry_ , but she says, "No, Tyler, look at me," and she repeats herself, slowly, her eyes on him. She thinks this helps, that this is what Tyler needs when he can't hear. She acts as if she is speaking to a child, as if he can figure out what she's saying by watching the way her lips move. That's absolute shit, though. It doesn't help. Tyler is awful at lip reading. He thinks his mom does this because she likes yelling at him. The truth is Tyler _does_ know what she's asking him, but he doesn't need to read her lips to know that. He's smart, he can figure out conversations from context clues. She wants to know about his hearing aids. He knows, he knows, he knows. And she wants him to say it. But since he has only just woken up and is still hungry for his cereal, Tyler decides to be difficult. He will never forget the look of agony on his mother's face as he raises his hands and shakes them.

She leaves him be after that. Tyler is glad he didn't film this morning.

Tyler does this to himself. He's purposefully ignorant when it comes to his parents. He even fucking turns off his hearing aids and runs to his room once he sees his parents pull into the driveway. They should have gotten the hint by now.

Maybe they would have left him alone if he had some friends to look after him. They tried pushing the neighbor boys onto him when he was a kid, but the last person a young boy wants to meet is some kid who looks like a robot. There were some who thought he was pretty cool; those friendships diminished after high school. Of course his mom blamed that on him not going to college.

"You can't put this all on me, you know. You wouldn't have even let me go to a university and study what I wanted."

They stared at him with blank eyes after this—probably because he signed it all. He hates his life.

Honestly, Tyler would have become a professional translator. On one hand, it would have irritated his parents, and on the other, he would have helped so many people.

So, when he finds out his most-viewed videos are his signing ones, he does feel proud. Despite his audience not knowing he is actually hearing impaired, Tyler considers this a win and something he's allowed to think about while he cries himself to sleep.

*

He meets Josh on one of the worst days of his life.

Tyler is outside, sitting on the front porch, watching his dad mow the grass. His dad is more lax when it comes to Tyler's hearing. He understands there are some sounds Tyler doesn't want to hear—the lawnmower being one. So, Tyler is able to sit on the front porch with a notebook and a couple pens and his hearing aids left setting on his nightstand in their case. If his dad wants his attention, he goes over and prods Tyler. He tries to sign, but eventually Tyler needs to flip to a blank page in the notebook and give that and a pen to his dad.

This happens today. His dad is trying to sign something, then he quickly glances to the right—Tyler's mom is planting some flowers next to the porch steps. She doesn't like it when they sign, but Tyler encourages his dad to continue, but his dad keeps glancing at his mom, so Tyler passes over the notebook and a few pens. His dad chooses the blue one.

He's still glancing to the right. He's saying something. Tyler narrows his eyes. _He doesn't have to talk if he doesn't want to talk_ , he thinks—or wishes. Either could be true.

On the front porch, with his dad mowing the lawn, Tyler is in his own world. He scribbles down words that make little to no sense, but sound good together. He's unsure if it'll amount to anything, but it's his favorite thing at the moment.

He leans in, his hands on his knees, as he watches his dad write. Tyler takes the notebook to read it properly when he's finished.

_Those boys on the road say they know you—watched your videos or something_

Tyler's face falters.

He hopes his dad was kidding, but there are actually boys on the road, waving at Tyler like they know him. They're saying something, their hands curving into the thumbs-up gesture. One of them is in a wheelchair, another in crutches. There's a hockey stick, a basketball, and all Tyler can see is the color pink before he bolts it inside, dropping everything off his lap. He thinks his phone might have cracked, maybe some pens broke. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.

He burrows underneath a dozen blankets, shutting his eyes, surfacing what feels like moments later to his mother yanking away his cover. She's stomping, angry, rattling the whole house. Tyler clutches his pillow. She's shouting, twisting him around, trying to put something in his hands, but his hands are fists, and his eyes are stitched shut, and he can stay like this for hours. He's done it before, and he can do it again.

He does it again.

His dad is there. Tyler stares at him, looking at him tapping his earlobe. Reluctantly, Tyler finds his hearing aids. His dad doesn't look happy, for what reason, Tyler isn't so sure. The first words out of his mouth are "You all right?"

Tyler nods.

"Do you know those boys? Did you go to school with them?"

Tyler shakes his head.

"Your mom wants to see these videos. Are they… bad?"

"Define 'bad'."

His dad frowns.

Tyler frowns, too. "Some of them contain sign language."

It seems that fits under the definition of "bad".

She wants all of them deleted.

Tyler shakes his head.

She's upset. "Tyler, I'm fine with you doing this."

Tyler rolls his eyes.

She continues, "But you… Tyler… why are you hiding your hearing aids? If you _really_ wanted to make a difference, then shouldn't you show that you are, in fact, disabled?"

Tyler shakes. "I wonder why I would be ashamed to show that."

The videos stay. Tyler hates his life.

*

He meets Josh again, a week after the worst day of his life.

Tyler is on the front porch today, feet hanging and toes skimming the petals of flowers his mother planted. He has in his hearing aids, the notebook on his lap, his phone resting next to him. The knock a week ago only scuffed the screen protector. Lucky, that. His parents had left a few minutes prior, telling him to call if he needs anything. His dad mimed texting behind his mom's back. Tyler smiled.

He's working on coloring a page blue. His mind is fried, unable to produce anything substantial. He feels fine, too, which is strange. It quickly goes away, as it so often does, at the rolling of wheels.

It's not loud, so not a car. But it is coming closer, so something is approaching him. Tyler raises his head, panics, and rips out his hearing aids, stuffing them in the pocket of his basketball shorts. He forces a smile.

It's the boy from before, the one in the wheelchair. He's stopped in front of Tyler, his hands in his lap. He's alone, no hockey sticks, no basketballs, just him and his pink hair. "Hey," he says. It's shaky after that. Tyler can't breathe. He holds out the notebook and a pen, and they are taken with no hesitation.

_Anxiety, huh? I get that way sometimes_

Tyler smiles, nods, deeming it acceptable for him to think that.

_I'm Josh_

Josh gives Tyler the notebook, assuming this is when Tyler is supposed to introduce himself. Tyler is caught on Josh's name. He signs it for him. Josh beams and does it back, saying something with the word "alphabet" in it. Josh knows the alphabet. Tyler signs his name next, Josh mouthing along with the letters. "Tyler?" He leans over to write it, too. _Tyler_. Tyler's heart races. He nods and smiles.

Josh takes the notebook again. _I didn't mean to frighten you or anything last week. I was surprised myself, like… I didn't think it was actually You. I didn't know we lived so close to each other_

Tyler smiles.

Josh continues, _Are you going to run away again?_

Tyler shakes his head.

Josh laughs. _Good. I really like your videos, and your voice. I didn't know how to tell you though_

Tyler takes over. _do you make music?_

_I drum a little_

Josh gives Tyler his YouTube username. "Look me up," he says.

Tyler says, "I will."

Josh smiles. "I'll see you."

Tyler waves. "Bye."

*

So, that night, Tyler watches videos of Josh drumming. Josh doesn't drum "a little". He drums _a lot_ , and Tyler fucking loves it. He likes a few videos and even comments. He never comments.

_this is sick_

*

Josh makes it a habit of visiting Tyler.

The next time Tyler sees him, he's rolling down the street, his friend with crutches following. They wave, and Tyler waves back, wondering if they were injured in the same accident. More than likely it was a car crash. If Tyler were in their position, he would definitely choose the wheelchair over the crutches.

Most times Josh doesn't have his friends with him. Like their second meeting, Josh wheels over and plants himself in front of Tyler. Tyler is on the porch, notebook ready, but he's also wearing a beanie, his ears—and hearing aids—covered. He's embarrassed. He doesn't know why; it's a natural reaction.

Tyler's mom is sitting out here with him, no doubt thrilled he's actually using his voice and not his hands or paper to communicate for once. He can see it on her face every time he opens his mouth. Either that, or she's happy to witness Tyler having a conversation with someone who isn't her or someone related to him.

Josh isn't wearing a shirt. He has a full sleeve tattoo that catches Tyler's attention more than once. Compared to Tyler and his beanie and black clothing, Josh belongs at the beach. Tyler doesn't remember the last time he went swimming.

"Saw your comment on my video," Josh says.

"It was actually pretty sick, you know. You're great."

Josh smiles, a dimple in his cheek. "Thanks. We should play together. Make some music."

From the corner of his eye, Tyler watches his mom smile, and then suddenly lose it at Josh's next words.

"Or you could totally do some signing, and I could do the sick beat in the background. That'd be cool."

"So cool."

His mom gets up, going through the front door. The screen door tries to slam, but it catches and closes anticlimactically slow.

Josh sniffs. "I liked that one song you did, about the radio. Stupid of me to admit, but I listened to it on repeat for… a good few hours. I was bummed to find it was gone the next day."

"People were… rude in the comments."

"Fuck 'em, yeah? You're great." They're firing back each other's compliments. They're not recycled; they're freshly refurbished.

Tyler is warm. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, man."

"Maybe I'll upload it again. Do it over. Dedicate it to you."

Josh laughs. "You don't have to do that." His fingers tap against the wheels of his chair. "Maybe a shoutout. I'll see you later, Tyler."

With a glass of lemonade, Tyler's mom reappears. She sips for a minute, Tyler waiting for her to say something scathing. It isn't scathing. "You like him, don't you?"

Tyler responds the same. It isn't scathing, though his body reacts as if it were a personal attack. It shuts down. Tyler glances at Josh's retreating back. He's about to switch off his hearing aids, about to switch everything off, but he doesn't. He doesn't. He shrugs, his stomach ill. "He's okay."

She smiles. She knows. "Do you want some lemonade?"

*

Josh comes back tomorrow. He's with his friend, so he doesn't stay long—long enough to give Tyler his number. "Text me sometime," he says, and wheels away.

And Tyler's mom, drinking Kool-Aid today, says, "Well, he certainly likes you."

*

Tyler redoes "Car Radio". There are multiple takes, where he's messed up a few times, where he can't exactly get out what he wants to say about Josh, and then when he finally does get through it without failure, Tyler realizes he wasn't covering his head with anything.

For two hours, he sits on his bed, replaying and replaying the video, wondering if it's obvious there's something wrong with him. As an afterthought, he tells himself there's nothing wrong with him. He's… well, he was going to say "enhanced", but that's not the right word.

Tyler lies on his stomach, watching the video again. Eventually he uploads it. If he continues to dwell on it, he'll end up deleting the whole thing and making a video of him apologizing to Josh for everything, and that'll end up being forty minutes long, at the least. Tyler doesn't have the energy to do that, so he uploads the video and goes to bed.

In the description, he makes sure to link to Josh's channel. He even puts a smiley face to show that he's serious.

Tyler avoids checking the comments as soon as he wakes, but he only has so much self-control.

Past all the surprise of him wearing something sensible with the weather outside, there are some people saying they're going to check out Josh. They thought it was cute for Tyler to give a shoutout to "my man Josh". But Tyler doesn't care about that. He scrolls through the comments, reading, skimming, looking for one user in particular.

Of course—the first comment, _Freaking sick! Thanks man_

Tyler is happy for the rest of the day.

And not one person points out his hearing aids.

*

Josh is with his friend again. Apart from the crutches missing, the scene is much the same as the other times Josh has wheeled down the road. He waves at Tyler, and Tyler waves at him.

Inside the house, his dad is watching TV. He looks like he had sat down moments ago. "Was that the boy from before?"

"Yeah, that's Josh." Tyler goes into the kitchen, rummaging inside cabinets.

"So… he's in a wheelchair."

"I think it might be from a car accident or something." Tyler cracks open a thing of Oreos, stuffing one into his mouth. "I didn't ask. His friend had crutches. I thought they got matching broken legs."

"But his friend doesn't have his crutches."

Tyler shrugs. "Yeah?" He sits outside, criss-cross applesauce, the Oreos beside him. Tyler grabs for his notebook.

His dad is standing by the front door, talking to Tyler through the screen. "Are you sure they each had broken legs?"

"I don't know, Dad, I didn't ask." Tyler clicks his pen. "I was raised not to ask about that stuff."

Silence. Tyler eats another Oreo.

*

"You should ask to sign his cast," his mom says in passing.

Tyler pretends he didn't hear. He's good at that.

*

It's one of the hottest days of the year. Tyler has to wear shoes and sit on a blanket to protect himself from the scalding heat. He's spreading sunscreen along his shoulders at Josh's arrival. The grass is dry. It crunches beneath the wheels.

"What loser puts on sunblock?"

"Me. I'm the loser." Tyler points the can at Josh. "You're so pale. I bet you burn."

Josh smiles and shuts his eyes. "Spray me."

Tyler does, setting it beside him after finishing. It tips onto its side, rolls toward the front door. He leaves it. "So."

"So." Josh is still smiling. "Do you want to get ice cream?"

"You're not wearing a shirt."

"Well, it looks like you're gonna have to go in and get it," Josh teases, grabbing the wheels of his chair and pushing himself backwards. "Is that okay?" He's concerned now, chewing on his lip. "I thought you were… getting better. You've been talking to me."

Tyler shakes his head. "No, it's fine. I'm fine. Let me grab some cash."

Josh shakes his head, too, grinning, teasing again. "I'm paying. Come on." He spins around, starting back onto the road.

The walk to the dairy bar isn't far, but Tyler expects it to be even more miserable due to the weather.

"Should'a brought the sunblock," Tyler says. "You might need to reapply soon."

Josh tries to run over Tyler, but Tyler jumps out of the way with a trail of laughter following him. "Stop, stop, stop, that's not fair!"

Josh waits outside while Tyler buys them ice cream. Since Josh refuses to put on a shirt, they can't enjoy air conditioning. Tyler is about to ask Josh if he'd want to go back to his place, and then he remembers Josh is in a wheelchair and the front porch steps. Frowning, Tyler hands the ice cream to Josh, melted vanilla already getting onto his fingers. "Wanna go to the park?" Tyler asks, and takes hold of the handles, squeezing the place his fingers are meant to lay.

Josh licks at his ice cream cone. "Lead the way."

There's a bench beneath a tree they sit under, Tyler occupying the bench and Josh next to him. Kids are bouncing on jungle gyms and leaping from swing sets. Josh watches them, his expression unreadable.

His hands are sticky from ice cream, but Tyler still pulls out his phone. "Do you want to take a video?"

"Yes."

Twelve minutes—the video is twelve minutes of them passing the phone back and forth, of them eating ice cream, of them smiling and laughing over words that haven't reached ears yet.

On a replay, Tyler notices how visible his hearing aids are, and says, "Maybe I won't post this one."

"We look good," Josh says, biting into the waffle cone.

Tyler shrugs. He scratches behind his ear.

Josh stares at him. He doesn't say anything. Maybe Josh was raised to not ask about that sort of stuff either.

*

Neither of Josh's legs has casts. Tyler is starting to think a car accident is more likely, and the injury resulted from it is not a broken leg.

*

It's cloudy today, supposed to storm later. Tyler is taking out the trash, dragging the cans behind him. His mom told him not to drag the bins, but they are heavy, and Tyler is small. He can hear her at the front door, opened for her to stand with one foot inside the house. "Tyler! I know you can hear me!"

At the curb, Josh is waiting, looking like he's been waiting for a long time. Tyler blinks, standing in front of him. "Hey."

Josh points over Tyler's shoulder, at Tyler's mom. Tyler shakes his head. "Ignore her."

The door closes. Tyler feels her eyes on them, not even trying to be discreet. "What's up?" Tyler crosses his arms over his chest. "You didn't text me, did you? I haven't checked my phone."

Josh is nervous. He's chewing on his lip, on his cheek, his nails even. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something, but doesn't know what, or how. Tyler is patient, has to be. Two more minutes pass before Josh gets the courage to say something, and it isn't verbal; it's with his hands.

He's shaky, but Tyler has been through the motions enough to get the gist of what he's trying to say. Tyler has had to do this with his dad, and even more so with his mom. With Josh, there's less jumping through hoops and more smiles.

_I'm okay. Didn't text you. Maybe I should have. Wanted to know what you were up to._

Tyler signs back, careful, slow. _I'm not doing anything. My parents are over. Again. Supposed to leave in a bit. Do you want to come in and get a pizza or something?_

Josh watches, intent, the hint of a smile on his lips. _Pizza sounds good._

They go toward the front door, stop at the porch, at its three steps. Tyler's mom isn't at the front door anymore. She fled at the sight of moving hands.

"I can get my dad to help you."

"No, just—I can walk. Take my arm."

Tyler's eyes widen. He begins to protest. It's horrible and involves more stuttering than actual words, but he does what Josh says. He takes hold of Josh's arm, his grip tight and turning his knuckles white. And then… Josh stands, and he walks. It's stunted, sluggish, and breaking Tyler's heart. "Here," he says, and wraps his arms protectively around Josh's waist. "Is this better?"

Nodding, breathless, Josh slings his arm over Tyler's shoulders. "Yes. Hold me upright."

Tyler does. They take it a step at a time. "There's a chair directly to the left. Okay?"

"Okay. Wait, what type of chair?"

"Um." Tyler looks through the screen door, narrowing his eyes. He sees his mom in the living room, television remote in her hand, the TV on mute. Tyler rolls his eyes at her. "It's a recliner." Tyler's voice causes her to jump, and when she sees Josh, she does what she does best—she leaves the room.

"Recliners are good."

"Better than pizza?"

"Dude, you can't compare them like that." Josh laughs. "Pizza's better. Obviously."

"Obviously." Tyler opens the screen door, fixing the latch so the door stays open. He returns his arm to Josh, helping him the rest of the way inside. Steady ground is easier for Josh, though that's a no brainer. Tyler turns, his hands on Josh's hips. He's wearing more clothes today: a t-shirt, jeans, a thin jacket; very mindful of the weather.

The recliner isn't the most comfortable piece of furniture to Tyler, but it's a godsend for Josh, who sinks into it and proceeds to groan very audibly. Tyler furrows his brow. "Josh?"

"Thanks, man. I owe you one. Just… throw my chair in here somewhere."

Tyler is struggling with getting the wheelchair up the porch steps when his parents tell him they're leaving. His mom is the first one to the car. His dad lingers. "Do you need help?"

"No." Tyler gets the chair up the last step and throws it into the house. Josh laughs. Tyler goes back to his dad. "He can walk."

"He can walk."

"He can walk." Tyler smiles. "I'll call if I need anything."

Tyler is back inside now, closing and locking the front door. Josh is content in the chair, his shoes kicked off to the side. His socks are mismatched, one red and one blue. "I texted you," he says.

Tyler's phone is in his room, still charging, leaned up against his hearing aid case. He imagines it vibrating until the case falls to the floor. Tyler sits on the floor, in front of Josh. "I'm right here."

Josh signs something.

Tyler blinks. "What?"

Josh does it again.

Tyler presses his lips together, lowers his head. "That's what I thought you said."

_I don't care that you're deaf. You'll always be cool to me._

*

Josh calls for the pizza, and tries to pay for it. Tyler is who offered pizza, and the one who can actually get up and pay for it, so he's going to pay for it.

Josh touches his chest. "That's cold. You're going to regret that one day."

Now in his possession, Tyler records them eating pizza on his phone. Mouth full of crust, he says, "Check it out: my man Josh is here." Tyler shows Josh, then zooms in on his socks. Back to Josh, to his face, his nose. "That mug of his is quite lovely, wouldn't you say?"

Josh reaches for the phone. "Come here," he says, "and say that to my face."

Tyler perches on the arm of the recliner. "That mug of yours is quite lovely, Josh."

Josh takes Tyler's wrist, pulling him to the right, and Tyler tips, twisting, lying across Josh's lap. Josh is laughing. Tyler is laughing. "Dude," Josh says, "watch your step."

The video cuts short. Josh dares him to post it. "We're so cute," Tyler says. "I'm saving it for a rainy day."

"It's raining now, man."

Tyler hears thunder. He smiles. "Oh."

He doesn't move. Josh runs his fingers through Tyler's hair. They watch TV.

*

Josh is asleep. Tyler removes his hearing aids, dropping them on a clear space on the carpet, and curls into a ball, tucking into Josh and falling asleep. It's one of the most peaceful nights of Tyler's life.

*

Fingers in his hair, along his skin, wrapping around his throat, Tyler wakes with sunlight in his eyes. He rubs them, aware of the hand around his throat, but not knowing just what he can do about it. The hand is most certainly Josh's, and Josh is awake, too, sleepy, smiling. His thumb moves circles in the hollow of Tyler's ear. Words form on his lips, though they fall on deaf ears. Literally. Tyler squints and pushes himself up, sitting proper. He shakes his hands, lazy, palms to the ceiling.

Josh touches Tyler's shoulder, rubbing more, stroking skin wherever he can. He signs this time. Tyler's eyes widen. "Crap," he breathes out. Josh laughs, the sound ingrained in Tyler's head. Josh is still laughing by the time Tyler puts in his hearing aids. "Why are you laughing?" Tyler asks. "This is serious."

"I just have to pee, Tyler."

"My bathroom isn't… that big."

"Mine isn't either. I usually… sit…" Josh stares at Tyler. "I'll wheel myself in there. Help me up." Josh holds out his hands. "Please." He grins.

Tyler takes Josh's hands.

*

Tyler posts the videos of him and Josh with no explanation in the description.

People are still calling Tyler "daddy", but it's moved onto Josh now. Tyler considers this acceptable.

*

Some commenters ask about the hearing aids. Tyler pretends he didn't see them.

*

Josh has videos of his recovery process. They're hidden beneath the drumming.

Multiple videos are of Josh walking, a little farther each time, some with a walker and a cane and some without. His friend from before, the one who had the crutches, is a common feature, cheering Josh along—supportive, so supportive.

"It was a spinal cord injury," Josh explains. They're in the backyard, Tyler on a picnic table top and Josh below him, Tyler's feet in his lap. "Incomplete, if you didn't get that."

Tyler wiggles his toes, digging them into Josh's thighs. "So, you can feel that?"

"Yes."

Josh was in a car accident—a hell of a car accident, he clarifies. His friend came out with a broken leg and a few cracked ribs, and Josh was told he'd be lucky if he could walk again.

"You can walk," Tyler says.

Josh picks out toe jam, cracking Tyler's toes after. "Yes. I can walk."

Tyler helps Josh walk. They pace the backyard, talking of music, of animals, of everything and nothing. There are days when Tyler doesn't want to talk, and there are days when they only communicate with sign language and paper. Tyler is getting better at reading lips, but those lips have to be Josh's. When Josh leaves, and his parents come, Tyler can't understand a thing they're saying. He puts in his hearing aids.

While Tyler tries to get Josh to walk whenever he can, Josh never pushes Tyler to wear his hearing aids. If Josh wheels himself up to Tyler's house and sees him without the devices, he switches over to sign language in a heartbeat. He understands. Josh understands so much.

*

The first time they play music together is magical.

It's at Josh's apartment, as Tyler thought it wouldn't be fair for the guy in the wheelchair to lug a drum kit through the neighborhood. Tyler only needs to pack a keyboard. It makes sense.

They sit in Josh's bedroom, pounding, singing, screaming. Tyler screams. He screams, and he screams. Josh dares him to try to sing without his hearing aids. Tyler does, and he swears he can hear himself scream.

*

The second time they play music together is disaster.

They're having off days. Josh's fingers bleed. Tyler cries. They agree to end their jam session early and meet next week.

*

The third time they play music together is equal parts magical and disaster.

What they do produce sounds decent, and Josh won't stop saying how much he loves it. There's something underneath that—something Tyler doesn't know, and doesn't know if he wants to know. He's at his keyboard, pressing down on keys at random, no thought process, no intention. Josh isn't even drumming; he's watching Tyler, the end of his drumstick to his temple. Is he thinking? What is he thinking? Tyler feels it bubbling, something bubbling. It's going slow, so slow.

Josh drops his drumsticks to the floor. _You fucking rock, dude_ , he signs.

Tyler blushes. He lowers his head.

Josh taps on the snare with his middle finger. Tyler looks up. Josh signs again. _You know that, right? You rule._

Blushing, blushing, Tyler can't stop blushing. _Thanks._

Josh pushes himself back, going around the drums, stopping in front of Tyler and his keyboard. "Sign me a song, a poem, anything," he says, and Tyler does. It's off the top of his head; it's about demons and darkness and disaster, disaster. Disaster is coming. Disaster is happening now. Disaster is Josh not saying anything when Tyler's finished. Disaster is Josh with tears in his eyes. Disaster is Josh signing with shaking hands, _Can I kiss you?_

Disaster is Tyler signing, _Yes_. Disaster is Tyler shoving his keyboard. Disaster is Tyler sitting in Josh's lap, and disaster is Josh kissing Tyler, and Tyler kissing Josh, and kissing is magical, kissing Josh is magical, Josh is magic. Josh is pink. Tyler is touching Josh's head, his hair, and Josh is touching Tyler's neck, smiling, smiling, laughing. Forehead against forehead, Tyler moves his hand against Josh's head, to the back of his head, to the back of his neck. _J_ , he signs, then _O_ and _S_ and _H_. He does it fast, he does it slow; he does it as Josh is kissing him. It's on loop, on repeat.

"Don't stop," Tyler mumbles, Josh's hands in places that bring a deeper blush to his cheeks.

Josh nips at Tyler's bottom lip. "What was that?"

Tyler signs it this time, over and over, and Josh doesn't stop. He doesn't stop.

During the comedown, Tyler whimpers, whines, and Josh licks it up, his teeth biting, his lips pulled into another smile. "Please don't stop smiling," Tyler whispers. He cradles Josh's face.

Josh smiles. "I won't."

*

Josh can feel. Josh can feel. He can feel, feel, feel.

"Don't post that," Josh says, his chest heaving, his arm thrown across his face. "Don't even _think_ about posting that."

Tyler pushes away Josh's arm, kissing the bridge of his nose. "Promise." He locks his phone.

*

Tyler is a vlogger—albeit a not very good one, but a vlogger nonetheless. His videos consist of sign language, music, nothing, everything, and Josh. Josh is a regular feature now. When Tyler gives weekly updates—Josh advises him to, whatever, who cares—he is almost always near Josh. Even if Tyler is lying in the grass or fixing breakfast, he makes sure to get a glimpse of Josh. This tends to be at the end of video. He turns it to Josh, shouts Josh's name, and Josh pouts. It's their thing. It's cute.

In Tyler's most recent vlog, he talks about his hearing impairment. Josh is with him, as always, but more of a background figure, as he's serving as transportation. Tyler is in Josh's lap, stretched with his legs over one of Josh's arms, trying to prevent him from wheeling them down the road. It doesn't work.

"He's so strong," Tyler says, head leaning against Josh's shoulder, his phone held as if he's having a FaceTime session with a family member. "His arms are phenomenal. Pretty sure he can bench press me." Tyler sniffs.

Josh rolls his eyes. "I'll show you bench press."

Tyler rubs his cheek into Josh's chest. Thankfully Josh is wearing a shirt today. The angle would have made it seem like they were in bed together, and while that isn't bad, Tyler does value some privacy.

"I should have mentioned this _way_ before now, but I was ashamed. I didn't think I was okay— _normal_. I had to keep telling myself there was nothing wrong with me. I… won't go into detail. I didn't like myself, and I hid it from you, my viewers, because I didn't want to face any ridicule. I see now I was…"

"An ass?" Josh supplies.

Tyler narrows his eyes. "Yes, thank you, Josh."

"No problem, man."

"I was being foolish when I should have been confident and embraced my disability. So, here I am, embracing it. Sort of. I didn't mean to post any videos with my hearing aids visible… and… so… I guess if I never met Josh, then no one will know. Except my family. And some kids I went to school with. And a handful of other people. But my point still stands." Tyler slowly narrows his eyes again. "Sits."

"Shut up, Tyler."

Tyler laughs. He raises his head and kisses Josh's chin.

*

One weekend, he hosts a livestream where viewers can ask him questions, and more users than he is able to count wonders about his hearing aids.

 _I'm deaf, too_ , a girl signs, _and I wanted to know what type of hearing aids you had. Mine don't work that well._

As always, Josh is with him. He talks to some people, too.

"I knew some sign language before I met Tyler," he answers, "but I wanted to learn more, you know? He gets… He has these days where he just doesn't want to hear, and if he doesn't want to hear, then I don't force him to hear. So, learning more than just the alphabet has helped me communicate with him. We write notes, sometimes, but sign language is what we use. Mostly."

"He's good at getting me to talk, though," Tyler adds. Josh smiles.

Someone asks about Josh's injury and Tyler's involvement in his recovery. "Is it like you not wanting to hear?" they ask. "If he doesn't want to walk, then do you let him take a day off?"

"No," Tyler says immediately. "I always make him walk. No excuses."

Josh covers his face with his hands, his laughter so hard it makes no sound.

*

Tyler guides Josh around the house, holding hands, stepping back as Josh steps forward. The layout of the house is full of corners and small rooms, so it poses a challenge for Josh. He's clinging to Tyler, moving his hands to grip Tyler's arms. There's more security here. Josh squeezes, and Tyler touches Josh's hips. They walk. They dance. Josh points this out first. "We're fucking dancing, aren't we?"

"Are we?" Tyler bites his lip. "Want me to dip you? Give you a twirl?"

"God, no."

"How about a kiss?"

Josh kisses Tyler.

*

Their first song together is Tyler's most-viewed video. He reads through the comments and sees no hate, no "daddy", only love and love and love. He doesn't hate his life anymore.

*

Tyler kisses Josh. "Smile for the camera."

And Josh walks.


End file.
